Home > Pucked Over (Pucked #3)(8)

Pucked Over (Pucked #3)(8)
Author: Helena Hunting

She lets out this tiny little whimper. It’s barely a sound; she tips her chin up, and her hips press forward. She’s got to be able to feel my hard-on. It’d be impossible not to. I run my tongue across my lip, over the scar from a stick I took to the face a long time ago. She tracks the movement. When she lifts her gaze, I take her mouth.

This time when she tries to push her tongue past my lips, I force it back with my own. Her hands leave my shirt, fingers closing around my wrists as she fights to get inside my mouth. Not gonna happen. Not yet. It’s hard to kiss and smile, but I manage.

She runs her hands through my hair. Yanking out the tie, she tosses it across the small room. I have no idea where it lands, but I sure won’t be picking it up off the bathroom floor.

I spin us around so she’s against the door and work a knee between her legs. Then I start basically dry-fucking her. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. This is a charity event. There are families, and kids. And here I am, locked in a bathroom with a girl who wrote TINY DICK INSIDE over most of my boxers. I’m wearing a pair tonight because I half-hoped I’d see her and this would happen.

I cup her ass, squeeze tight, and lift her. She’s maybe five-six, five-seven at best, and I’m almost six-three, so I’ve got a lot of height on her and probably a hundred pounds. She’s willowy, compact muscle and narrow everything from her hips to her rib cage. She wraps her strong legs around my waist, another one of those strangled moans bubbling up.

If it were possible for one human being to devour another, we’d be doing that now. She lets go of my hair and searches for the hem of my shirt. Her fingernails scratch over my abs. I bite her tongue in retaliation. She wrenches her face away from mine, banging her head against the door.

“You okay?” I ask.

She pinches my nipple, so I bite her neck. “Do it again and I’ll suck until I leave a mark,” I warn, parting my lips against her skin. It’s salty and sweet and so very, very warm.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I definitely would.” I apply the tiniest bit of suction and she gasps, her hands going back to my hair, fingernails digging into my scalp.

I adjust my grip and grind up on her while I kiss along her throat to her jaw. I’m so hard right now. I wish she were wearing something other than tight jeans. The only way I can feasibly get inside her is to turn her around and take her from behind. It’s not my preferred position.

I know exactly what Lily’s come face looks like. If I’m gonna fuck her, I want her eyes on mine when she loses it all over my cock. A public bathroom probably isn’t the best place for this to go down anyway, even if it’s wheelchair accessible and fairly clean. Public washrooms are more of a Miller move, or a Miller-pre-Sunny move, anyway.

I keep rolling my hips and those little noises of hers get louder, so I cover her mouth with mine again.

Her hands turn into fists, gripping my hair so tightly I’m almost concerned she’s going to rip it out by the roots. “Oh my God,” she groans against my lips.

I pull away, checking to make sure she’s okay. She throws her head back, hitting the door again with a low thud. We’re making an awful lot of noise in here, but at least it’s an out-of-the-way bathroom.

I push her firmly against the door with my hips so I don’t have to use both hands to hold her up. That way I can stop her head from smacking against the door. If she keeps it up, she’s going to have a bruise. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she was coming—which should be impossible since I haven’t done anything but rub myself on her.


Her eyes roll down to meet mine, her shock replaced by ecstasy. Her mouth drops open. “That’s not—I can’t—”

“Are you coming?” Despite the lack of probability, I have to ask.

She shakes her head furiously and stutters out a no.

Her expression is suspect. I don’t buy it. Gripping her ass, I swing around so we’re facing the wall. Then I lower her to the ground. Her nails run down the side of my neck, and she claws at my shirt.

“Why are you stopping?” She air humps once and wobbles unsteadily.

I walk her backward until she hits the wall. She immediately starts rubbing her pussy on my thigh. There are way better places for her to do that. She tries to pull my mouth back to hers, but I have other plans. I pull her shirt over her head and hang it on the knob. Her purse is on the floor by my feet, crap strewn all over the place. Not that it matters right now.

Her bra isn’t fancy, or lacy, or anything special. It’s plain, pale satin. I can see the outline of her nipples through it. I’ll get to those later. While Lily rides my leg, I pop the button on her jeans and pull down the zipper. Her underwear matches her bra, more simple, pale satin.

I shove my hand down the front of her pants. She’s been taking care of things. I’m met with smoothish skin. But her jeans are so tight I can’t get my hand past the crest of her pelvis. I can feel how hot she is, but I can’t get to all that wetness. In her defense, my hands are big, so that only adds to the problem.

Lily fumbles with my belt buckle and then my zipper. My erection strains against my boxers. She freezes, her eyes darting to mine in shock. Not because my dick is terrifying, although it kind of is, but because she can read the TINY DICK INSIDE she wrote on the hot pink material in neat block letters with black permanent marker.

She bites her lip and makes a face, like she’s not sure if she should laugh, be embarrassed, or apologize—or maybe all three. She skims the waistband like she’s thinking about sticking her hand inside. “Why do you still have these?”

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